


New England

by Cerdic519



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Destiel - Freeform, Gay Marriage, Impala, M/M, New England, Writers, mentioned non-graphic suicide attempt, past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:54:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is a popular but reclusive writer who lives in a disused lighthouse on the New England coast. His life changes when his sister Anna brings her client's brother Sam Winchester to his door, and asks for Castiel to look after Sam's brother Dean, an actor who has just attempted suicide. Castiel agrees reluctantly, and Dean comes to stay even more reluctantly. A battle of wills begins...</p><p>Rewritten and now with an added epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

‘.... As the great Jane Austen once almost said, he was of course only too good for him, but then again, most people cope surprisingly well with having what is too good for them. He swept Mark off his feet, carrying him out of the room and up the long, golden staircase, to a future that both men had so nearly destroyed more than once, but one that was now, unshakably, theirs.’

Castiel Novak sighed as he finished typing. Another one in the bag, with just the editing to do. If only real life could be directed via his computer screen, it would be so much easier to handle.  
   
+~+~+  
   
Half an hour later he was sipping his tea and listening to the rain beating against the window when there was a thunderous knock at the door. He looked up in surprise. He lived in a former lighthouse a good three miles off any main road, and the few people who visited always phoned in advance. He checked out of the bay window, then smiled and hurried to let his sister in.

“Anna!” he beamed. “Why didn’t you…?”

He stopped. She wasn’t alone. With her was one of the tallest young men Castiel had ever seen. His hair, which was styled in the latest bangs, hung dripped and sodden over his narrow shoulders. But it was the look in his eyes which Castiel most noticed. This was a man on the edge.

“Herbal tea all round, Cas”, said his sister shortly, half leading and half dragging her companion into the front room. “Pronto!”

He scurried to obey. Anna might be his loving sister, but she wasn’t the sort of woman you said no to. Or if you did, you mightn’t live to regret it. He could still remember the time his schoolmates discovered he was gay; Anna had found Alistair Wyley tormenting him by the lockers, and had promptly decked him, before kneeling on his back and graphically describing (to a fascinated audience) exactly what she would do to various parts of his anatomy if she ever saw him near her brother again. Alistair had changed schools the next day; Castiel had had no trouble after that, other than the usual silent stares and whispers.

“Got any of those pink marshmallows, Cas?” his sister said, coming into the kitchen.

“Pink and white mixed, in the pantry”, he said, fetching some and filling a small bowl with them. “I thought you were on one of those fad diets again?”

“Not for me, dipstick! For Sam! He loves them.”

“He’s your client?”

“Not exactly.”

Castiel raised a quizzical eyebrow at her.

“Not that. He’s the brother of my client. A client who just tried to kill himself.”

He gasped.

“You’re kidding!”

“Afraid not. Sam's brother is Dean Winchester, the actor. You remember that soap last year, Troubled Hearts, the one they cancelled? He was one of the stars. He came up here for a rest; he's been through a bad patch lately. Sam’s a lawyer; he was supposed to join him, but got delayed on a case, and didn’t arrive until yesterday. He found Dean passed out on the bed with a bottle of pills next to him; the man had to have his stomach pumped in the E.R. It was touch and go, but he pulled through - for now, anyway. But Sam’s terrified he’ll try again. I brought him here for a few days; I think the peace and quiet will do him good. They’re keeping Dean under, so there’s no reason for Sam to stay at the hospital. And he really needs to sleep.”

“Of course”, said Castiel loyally. He placed the third cup on the tray, added a couple of pills from a draw, and motioned for Anna to open the door for him. “Any friend of yours is welcome here. He can stay as long as he likes.”  
   
+~+~+  
   
He followed her into the living room; Sam had been reading a book from the shelf, which he dropped with a horribly guilty look as they came in. Castiel saw his sister’s eyes narrow, and immediately feared the worst. She just as immediately proved him right.

“Cas has the whole set, you know.”

“Er, whole set of what?”

“Angel Thursday. Every book the gay Barbara Cartland has ever written. Isn’t that right, Cas?”

If looks could have killed, there’d now have been one less living person in the living room.

“Yes”, he said through gritted teeth.

“I think he’s brilliant!” Sam gushed. Then he reddened. “I mean, the way he uses old literature quotes, and sees people right down to the core. You’re a writer yourself, Cas?”

Castiel didn’t correct him about his nickname. Somehow it seemed okay for Sam to use it.

"I am, yes.”

Anna thumped him. He glared at her.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Sam’s okay. You can tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Sam managed through a mouthful of marshmallow.

“Cas is Angel Thursday!”

Sam coughed violently, then blushed again as marshmallow flew everywhere. He gulped down some tea in attempt to regain his composure, but it was evidently too hot, and it brought on a further coughing fit. Castiel sighed as he caught the look on his sister’s face, but he could empathize with her a bit. Even though he was well over six foot tall, there was something about Sam that brought out the mothering instinct.

“You are?” Sam managed eventually. “Wow!”

“Yes. And as you’re in my house, I expect you to follow my rules. First of which is that you will drink your tea, including those two sleeping tablets on the saucer, then go to bed. Is that clear?”

“But…”

“Sam, is that clear?”

“Yes”, said the young man, lowering his gaze.

“Good”.  
   
+~+~+  
   
“I’d forgotten just what a scary son of a bitch you can be with that Look of Death”, Anna teased him later. “He folded faster than a deck-chair.”

“He’s a nice boy. I like him.”

Anna raised her eyebrows.

“Shut up, Anna!”

“You weren’t even looking at me! How did you know…?”

“Because I know people.” He paused. “So what do you plan to do with Sam after his brother’s out of hospital?”

He knew the minute he had said it.

“Um…”

Castiel sighed.

“What do you need me to do?”

She threw herself at him.

“I knew there was a reason I loved you, Cas!” she squealed. “Please, can Dean come and stay with him here for a while? A couple of weeks, a month tops. Sam’s terrified he’ll try again, and I know you won’t let him do that.”

“How, exactly? You want me to mount a 24-hour guard on the guy?”

“No. You’ll just tell him to not do it, and he’ll crumble.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll be scared of you, honey. That Look, and he’ll fold faster than his brother did just then. You’ll have him whipped in no time.”

Castiel sighed. His quiet, retiring life was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

“Oh, and before I forget”, Anna said. “Gabe said he might pop over some time.”

Make that a massive lot more complicated.

“Pop over?” said Cas disbelievingly. “He lives the other side of the country, running a somewhat risqué candy shop in San Jose. In fact, scrub the ‘somewhat’. How exactly will he ‘pop over’?”

“You know Gabe. Thanks for all this, Cas. I owe you one. I’ll get Sam to tell you all about Dean when he wakes up. Now, I need a long hot bath. I’m exhausted!”  
   
+~+~+

Sam slept well into the following day, and came downstairs early in the afternoon. Castiel knew at once he was about to argue.

“I phoned the hospital”, he said brusquely. “Apparently Dean’s condition is slightly more stable, so he’s moving in the right direction. Three more days they reckon, then they may bring him round.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“What are your plans?”

“I was supposed to fly out to Stanford for an initialization course a week Monday”, the young man said. “I’ve been accepted there. Dean and I… we haven’t been talking for years. I really thought…..”

He stopped, looking on the verge of tears. Castiel edged a box of tissues he had ready over to him. Sam took one and blew his nose.

“Dad died three years ago”, he sniffed. “Dean did everything, dropping out of school and working three jobs to keep me going. Then he met Naomi. She was a bitch of the first order, but she knew how to twist him round her little finger. Mental and physical abuse, and when I tried to step in, she turned him against me. Two years ago I moved in with a friend, and we stopped talking; Dean continued to support me financially but wouldn’t speak to me. Then last month she got killed by a drunk driver – I swear, Cas, it’s a terrible thing to say, but I was glad she was dead!”

Castiel said nothing. What was there to say?

“I went back, and we rowed at first, but I told him I’d been accepted at Stanford, and he said we’d better have some time together before I went. I knew he was still fragile, but when I saw him on that bed…. I saw all the scars on his body. Put there by her! I wasn't there when he needed me, and now.... I….”

He sobbed uncontrollably. Castiel let him cry for a while, then reached forward and gently took one of Sam’s huge hands.

“Sam, listen to me. You cannot be to blame for pain inflicted by another human being. Or an inhuman one, from what you’ve told me. You must go to Stanford, and do what you have to do.”

“But Dean….”

“Dean will be here for a time after he comes out of hospital. You don’t have to go until Monday week, so you can help settle him in.”

“But what if he….”

“He won’t.”

“But why would you do this?

“Because my sister is your friend. And she scares the hell out of me!”

Sam managed half a chuckle.

“I’ll take care of Dean”, said Castiel. “I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

Four days later, an ambulance pulled up outside Castiel’s house, and two men got out. Castiel was waiting for them.

“He’s in the back”, said one gruffly. “We’ll get him into the house…”

“Thank you”, said Castiel. “I’m sure I can manage. Just help him out of the vehicle, please, then bring his bag in.”

It took only a few seconds of the Look before the driver nodded curtly, and they helped a young man out of the back of the ambulance. Castiel’s first thought was that he really didn’t look like Sam’s elder brother. His second was that the suffering he had seen in Sam’s open features was but a shadow compared to what this man had been through.

The man scowled as the two men left him. He then tried the same with Castiel, which was his first mistake, as Castiel promptly stared straight back. He had learned from experience that most people found it unnerving if you stared straight at them. He got as far as observing that Dean had moss green eyes with golden flecks in them, plus a smattering of freckles across the face and down his neck, before the other man dropped his gaze.

“Why have they brought me here?”

His voice was pleasant, but he sounded close to exhaustion.

“Because I told Sam I would let you stay here for a while.”

“Who are you?”

“Castiel Novak. Anna, your PA, is my sister.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

“We shall continue this conversation inside, Dean”, Castiel said firmly. “Now, please.”

The taller man struggled with him, but having to grow up with four elder brothers had led to Castiel having the sort of strength no-one would have suspected from his wiry frame. Dean seemed more than a little surprised to find himself taken very firmly into the front room.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “Holding me hostage?”

He’s afraid, Castiel thought. Gently, now.

He carefully sat the man down, then took a chair opposite, keeping some distance between the two of them. He waited for Dean to calm down before speaking.

Sam will be here in two hours”, he said. “You will take that time to clean yourself up, and then rest. You are in my charge now, and I am responsible for you. Sam will be here until Monday week, when he has to fly out to Stanford.”

“But…”

“Whilst you are in my house, you will eat the meals I prepare for you, and you will rest when I tell you. You will not leave the grounds without informing me. You will not attempt to harm yourself in any way, shape or form. I have promised Sam that I shall look after you, and I intend to keep my word. Your brother is at a crucial stage of his life, and if you wreck things for him, he will never forgive you. More importantly, you will never forgive yourself.”

“I….” Dean was staring up at him, aghast.

“Your room is upstairs, the blue door on the left. I shall take your bag up there for you, then leave you. I shall ring the gong when Sam is back; he is picking up dinner for us.” He stood up, stiffly. “Come!”

Dean stared at him in amazement, but eventually scrambled to his feet and followed him up the stairs.

+~+~+

“Going somewhere?”

Dean froze. He was halfway down the drainpipe that started outside his room, and not really in much of a position to defend himself. But he tried.

“You knew I’d try that!” he hissed.

Castiel chuckled.

“Of course. That’s why I chose that room for you.”

The look on Dean’s face said quite clearly ‘I hate you’.

“You love your brother, don’t you?” said Castiel.

“I haven’t spoken to him in years until a few weeks back”, Dean prevaricated, easing himself onto the ground, only to find Castiel was suddenly just inches away. He couldn’t back away with the drainpipe behind him, but he squirmed nonetheless.

“Don’t try to play me, Dean”, he said quietly. “I saw the look on Sam’s face when he talks about you. That sort of feeling doesn’t survive unless it’s returned in spades. He loves you, and you love him. Do you love him enough to let him have his chance? A chance to fulfill the dreams you never could? Well, do you?”

Dean glared at him, then blushed.

“Fine, whatever”, he muttered.

“Let’s go in”, Castiel said quietly.  
   
Dean hung his head, and followed him into the house.

+~+~+

If Castiel ever thought his own Look was powerful, he got ample demonstration that he was not the only one with such a talent when Sam and Anna arrived. Dean had (surprisingly) made himself a bit more presentable, and they ate in silence. Even more surprisingly, it was Dean who spoke first.

“What time Monday are you leaving?” he asked Sam.

“Just after midday. Flying from Portland.” Sam didn’t look at his brother as he answered.

“Everything okay with you?” asked Dean.

The eruption, when it came, was spectacular. Sam shot to his feet, towering over everyone.

“No it is bloody not okay! And you want to know why? My brother just tried to take his own life and I… I….”

The storm passed almost as quickly as it had come, and he sank down in his chair, his head in his hands, sobbing loudly. The look on his brother’s face was a picture. He looked terrible…

… until Sam looked up, and his face was the most awful 'some bastard ran over my puppy' look that Castiel was awestruck. The effect on Dean was electric. He almost fell over his chair in his efforts to get up, and grabbed Sam in a big bear-hub, gently cradling the young man’s head protectively to his chest.

He really does love Sam, thought Castiel. Leverage point.

And, added a small voice at the back of his mind, that makes him a good person.

+~+~+

“It’s time to start your treatment.”

Castiel suppressed a smile as Dean jumped. He knew had a way of coming up to people so silently they didn’t see or hear him until the last minute.

“Um, what do you mean, treatment?”

“I mean healing those wounds on your body. The ones you keep picking at so they won’t heal.”

Dean flushed an angry red.

“None of your business!”

Castiel swung in close to Dean who, being on the couch, had nowhere to back off to. “This is your home for the time being, Dean”, he said quietly. “I know you think of me as your jailor, but I’m doing this for Anna, and for Sam.”

Dean tried to edge away, but Castiel reached out and held him by the shoulders. Not tightly; just enough to stop him edging away.

“Here’s how it is, Dean”, Castiel said, his voice low but urgent. “Today I am going to treat all your injuries, and you are going to promise me you will not harm yourself any more. Tomorrow I will continue the treatment, after which you will show Sam your wounds….”

“No!” Dean gasped in horror.

“You will show Sam your wounds so, when he comes back after his week in Stanford, he can see that you are healing. After that I and he will treat you on alternate days until you are healed. On the outside, at least.”  
   
Dean stared at him, his green eyes clearly terrified.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve suffered a great deal, Dean, and nothing can undo that. Only you can put yourself together again, and decide what you want to be in life. I am here to help. I know you don’t like me, but at the moment, I’m it.”

“I hate you!”

“You have every right to, but I am still going to treat those wounds today.”

“Fine!” And with that Dean shucked off everything except his shorts and socks, and stood there defiantly. “Well?”

“Atlas”, murmured Castiel.

“Eh? You think I look like a road map?”

Castiel chuckled.

“Greek myth”, he explained. “Atlas was an old god, who was on the wrong side in a battle. His punishment was to hold up the weight of the heavens on his shoulders for all time, until Perseus took pity on him and turned him to stone, or the Atlas Mountains in North Africa.”

“So you think I’m a god?” Dean looked confused.

“No. But you certainly bear a heavy weight on your shoulders. Come. We’ll use the gym.”

+~+~+

 

Sam had warned Castiel about his brother’s injuries, but even so he had been shocked to the core by the extent of them. Naomi had been very thorough and very careful; nothing on any part of the body that might show in public, but she’d made up for it elsewhere. Sam had been right; that driver had done humanity a favor. Dean lay face down on the bench whilst he worked, cleansing the various wounds along his back and sides before easing him into an upright position to deal with his front. A veritable Atlas.

A bad thought about a possible story rose up into his mind, and he blinked sharply. Okay, being a writer was fine, but inspiration might try to have a little better timing.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dean, sounding concerned.

“Oh, I just remembered something”. Fortunately, he had something ready with which to change the subject. “”Did you enjoy reading Pride And Promises?”

“Yes, I….” Dean stopped and went bright red. “How did you know?” he asked in a small voice.

“I always replace the books in alphabetical order. You didn’t. So tell me what you think about Angel Thursday.”

“Alright, but not real. Too many happy endings.”

“It’s literature, Dean, not real life. People want happy endings.”

“Yes, well someone should tell him what real life is like.”

“You think a happy ending is unrealistic?”

”For me, yes.”

“So what’s your happy ending?”

“Eh?”

“What would make you happy, Dean? It's not a trick question. Most people know what they want out of life.”

Dean stared at him for a moment.

“I want it to be over”, he said flatly.

“Even if it means hurting Sam?”

“He'll get over it. Hey, I'm a movie star. Here today, gone tomorrow.”

Castiel deliberately rubbed hard at the last wound, causing Dean to yelp in agony.

“Ow!”

“That's what Sam would feel without you, idiot!” the writer hissed. “Just a hundred times worse. And it won't go away with time, because just like you, Dean, he'll keep picking away at it, so it’ll never heal. Even if you were ‘gone tomorrow’ as you put it, even when Sam marries and has kids of his own, he will never forget you. You're part of his soul. What gives you the right to take that from him?”

There was an uneasy silence. Dean finally spoke.

“I'm sorry.”  
   
Castiel gently treated the last wound.

“I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have hurt someone who's had more than their share of suffering. I promise I won't do it again.”

There was an uneasy silence.

“I actually liked that book”, Dean said. “The angst in particular, the way he showed the pain one person could inflict on another, even when they weren’t trying to. Kind of… it made me think of Sammy, and all the crap I’ve dealt down to him over the years.”

“This would be the Sam currently going to Stanford, would it?” asked Castiel softly. “The Sam who got you here to recover?”

Another pause.

“Yes”, said Dean quietly. “I get it. Perhaps I didn’t do so badly by the sasquatch after all.”

Castiel smiled, and dressed the last wound.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel had to take Sam to Dean’s room the next day, as his patient had locked himself in his room door (Castiel had given him the key as a token of faith), then threaten to break the door down if Dean didn’t let them in. It said something that the door was unlocked within seconds. Castiel left the two of them to talk, only going up an hour later to offer drinks and refreshments. Both men were quiet at dinner, until Sam spoke.

“I’ll be back after a week”, he said conversationally.

“I’ll be here”, Dean grunted.

“I’ll then have two weeks here before I start”.

“Dean can stay here as long as he wants”, Castiel said firmly. “He will be here until you leave for Stanford permanently, but after that he is free to do what he likes.”

Dean stared at him, astounded.

“You chucking me out, man?” he said, almost accusingly.

Castiel Looked at him. Dean flinched.

“I believe I said you can stay here as long as you want”, he reminded him. “Naturally if you wish this arrangement to become more permanent…”

“Permanent!” Dean shot up.

“Please sit down, Dean”, Castiel said calmly. “I said, ‘if you wish’. I shall not force you. Three weeks from tomorrow, when Sam goes to Stanford, you must start to take control of your own life. I shall be there to help you, if you need it. You’re a grown man. Kindly act like one.”

Dean stormed out, and slammed the door.  Castiel sighed, then took a small card out of his pocket and handed it to Sam.

“That’s the number and address of my brother, Gabriel, who lives in San Jose. He runs what you might call a ‘niche’ restaurant there. Since this is your first real time away from home, you may find it reassuring to have someone on hand in an emergency. Gabriel is…. unique, but his heart is in the right place. Just try not to go to the actual restaurant.

“Why? It’s not bad, is it?”

“Too good. You’ll pile on pounds in no time. He had a sort of natural charm which just keeps the customers coming back for more. He’s my favorite brother, but I’m kind of glad we usually have the whole of the continental United States between us! And all those calories!”

Sam laughed.  
   
+~+~+

   
The next day passed in an uneasy truce. Dean allowed Sam to treat his injuries, and said nothing whilst his brother gently cleansed his wounds. Castiel covertly moved a whole set of his books onto the shelf in Dean’s room, so he could read them without being seen. Dean ate the meal he prepared ravenously, then quietly asked if he could suggest a few things. Castiel agreed, and suggested that they could go shopping together that afternoon. It was as if everything was in a fragile state of truce, whilst the two sides sought to prepare for the next act of open warfare.

The truce broke at the store. They had just packed the groceries into the trunk, and Castiel was returning the trolley when he heard a grating sound behind him. Dean had managed to jump-start his old car, and was driving out of the car park with a triumphant grin on his face.

It lasted for about two seconds until the car whimpered and shuddered to a halt. Castiel had to suppress a smile at the shocked look on the actor’s face. For a man who made a living out of portraying emotions, he didn’t hide his own very well. He walked up to the car and opened the driver’s door.

“Over”, he said shortly. Dean looked at him mutinously, but scooted over.  
Castiel slapped his face.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Damaging my car. And being stupid enough not to realize I might just have thought first about letting a former mechanic alone in my vehicle for more than five seconds!”

“How come you know I was a grease-monkey?”

Castiel stared at him. He could see Dean was trembling, but he still felt angry.

“I know a lot about you, Dean Winchester”, he said icily. “I promised both Anna and Sam I would take care of you until you were better. I do not break my promises. It is high time you understood that.”

Dean seemed to shrink away from him. Castiel sighed, and reached out his hand until the other man could not retreat any further without fleeing the car, then gently touched the actor’s unkempt hair.

“You are a great man, Dean Winchester. Stop fighting me, and let me help you. For Sam’s sake, if nothing else. The two of you have put each other through hell these past few years. Don’t you both deserve something better now?”

“Sammy does”, said Dean defensively.

“And you don’t?”

“I don’t matter.”

“You matter to Sam. I can still see his face, the first time he came to the house. I know it wasn’t your fault, but you nearly broke him. He was ready to give up Stanford for you. He would die for you, Dean, as you would for him. Please, promise me you’ll give it a month before leaving?”

Dean suddenly pushed Castiel’s hand away and turned on him.

“Why do you care?” he demanded. “What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing. Except knowing I helped you.”

“But….”

“Sometimes good things do happen, Dean. Even to bow-legged actors who make a mess of their lives, and need a helping hand to start cleaning things up. Sam will be gone in a few days, and he’s still scared. Be with him, and let us both heal you. Please?”

Dean stared at him, as if trying to read his blue eyes.

“Okay”, he muttered at last. “Just don’t mention the legs.”

Castiel smiled.

“Thank you, Dean.”  
   
+~+~+

“Sam?”

The younger Winchester started. Dean always called him Sammy, even though – okay, mainly because - he knew it irritated him. Any conversation that started with Dean not ribbing him couldn’t be good.

“Uh huh?” he said nervously.

“I kinda wanted to say something, before you shoot off for your week of stuff in Cali.”

“Sure, Dean.”

“It’s just… well, I mean…. that is……”

Sam could have ribbed Dean for this, but kept silent.

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

Sam leapt up and hugged him.

“Oof! Get off of me, you great sasquatch, you!”

“I love you, Dean!”

“Euw! Chick-flick moment!”

“I don’t care! Just… Dean!”

Castiel was watching silently from the door. He smiled slightly to himself, then withdrew to allow the brothers some more time together.

Perhaps things were finally going to work out.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was bored. He liked reading (those Angel Thursday books were great, though he didn't want Cas to catch him reading one, and hid them quickly under the covers if he heard his host coming up the stairs), but he liked being outside as well. Of course, Castiel hadn’t told him he couldn’t go places, but after the car park incident he was treading very carefully.

It was Tuesday. Sam had left for his week in Stanford the previous day, and the house felt empty without him. He’d made a point of being the one to treat Dean’s injuries, before he left, and the big girl had broken down and sobbed when he did so. He tried not to think of the fact that a large box of tissues had appeared in the room just before Sam’s visit. Castiel had just made a lucky guess. And it wasn't as if Dean used many of them himself.

Alright, four. But that wasn't the point.

He was in the middle of Wildwood Hall when he heard a familiar engine sound from outside. He hauled himself up and stared out of the window.

And stared.

Thirty seconds later he was on the porch, panting in the pouring rain, staring at one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. The saints be praised, it was a ’67 Chevy Impala! Barely mobile, and in poor shape, but she was beautiful! In fact she was even the same color as…..

Then he caught sight of the tiny faded yellow smiley sticker in the corner of the rear seat window. And that was when the bottom fell out of Dean’s world, and he collapsed onto the porch bench and wept.  
   
+~+~+  
   
It was some time before he realized Castiel was sitting beside him, holding him gently. The actor looked at him in bewilderment.

“Why?” he asked, his voice sounding broke.

“Because you need something to occupy your time, and besides, you always wanted that car.”

“But how?”

“I tracked her down to a woman in Louisiana”, Castiel explained. “I had a local garage do enough to make her roadworthy, and they drove her here.”

“Why?”

“You are going to spend the next few weeks working on her. You would have gone after her yourself, except your father told you he’d had the car crushed. From the way you and Sam described him, I suspected he lied, and tracked her down.”

Dean stared at Castiel for what seemed like an age, then threw himself into his arms and wept openly. Chick-flick moments be damned, he loved this man!  
   
+~+~+

“I can’t do this!” Dean said exasperatedly, coming into the kitchen the following day. “It’s just too much!”

“Google”, said Castiel, without looking up from his paper.

“What?”

“Google. Work out the parts you need, then we’ll buy them.”

“But that’ll be way too expensive… hey, wait a minute! We?”

“Of course”, said Castiel, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But… why?”  
   
Castiel stared at him, and sighed heavily.

“You’re not going to start that again, are you?”

“But…”

“Dean, you find out what you need to get the car rolling again, and I will pay for everything. Then, once the car is finished, I will sell her to you for the value of the items I purchased, plus what I paid for the car.”

“But why don’t I buy them on my card?”

“The hospital claimed they ‘lost’ your cards, so Anna cancelled them.”

“I could always apply for new ones.”

Castiel gave him a Look.

“Stop doing that!”

“Good things do happen, Dean”

He sounded exasperated. The guy who’d just tracked down and bought Dean the car he’d always wanted, and had never thought he could have. The guy who'd put up with his tempers and mood swings, and welcomed him into his house.

The guy who was making him better.

For possibly the first time in his life, Dean Winchester felt small.

“I’m being an ungrateful swine, aren’t I?” he said quietly.

“You are a bit. Get your coat, anyway. There’s a good tool shop in the next town, and I know the owner. I’m sure we can get most of what you need there. And there’s a diner next door that has cheeseburgers to die for!”  
   
+~+~+

Dean stared across the table at Castiel. The tool shop had had almost everything he wanted, and they’d directed him a few miles up the road to another shop who could supply the three items they didn’t have. The writer stared back at him.

“What?” he asked, sounding amused more than cross.

“I can’t make you out”.

“Few people can, Dean. You’re pretty hard to read, too.”

“Don’t change the subject!”

Castiel sighed, and put down his burger.

“Look”, he said patiently, “I have a pretty good income from what I do, and I don’t exactly live extravagantly. I save most of what I earn, so I can afford to give myself a holiday once in a while. And if I spend this particular holiday doing something that will keep my beloved sister and your brother happy, then that’s my choice.”

“What exactly do you do?” asked Dean through a mouthful of fries.

“Gross!”

“Hey, I’m hungry! Though your meals are great, too. Especially those pies!”

“Thanks. Well, my income is mostly through literature. I write stories, but my steadiest income is from editing stuff written by other people, correcting the grammar and adding what they call ‘bite’. I guess you could say I’m nothing more than a glorified spell-check.”

“Ouch!”

“Dean, the people you work with – are they really that bad?”

“No. Why?”

“Because you seem surprised that someone would do something for you simply because they choose to do it.”

“Yes, but they’re paid to get along with me”, Dean pointed out. “You’re not.”

“So you don’t believe I’m doing this simply because I want to?”

His gaze was too intense. Dean dropped his eyes.

“I don’t know what to make of you.”

To his surprise, Castiel laughed. It was a rich, hearty laugh, nothing like his normal gravelly voice. Dean rather liked it.

“Come on, let’s get the rest of your stuff”, Castiel said, still smiling. You’ve still got several hours daylight if you want to do more work on the Impala.”

“If I want?” Dean said incredulously.

They left the diner, laughing like two old friends.

+~+~+

The car was basically a wreck, and it would have been far cheaper to buy a new one or even build a replica from scratch. Castiel had made this point on one occasion, and Dean had been about to storm into defending his pride and joy when he caught sight of the creases forming around the other man’s eyes, and knew he was being teased. He huffed indignantly, but didn’t snipe back or anything. Sam would have been proud of him. 

Okay, he would once he’d recovered from the shock.

For the next week, Dean practically lived in the garage. It wasn’t until the third day that it dawned on him this was only being made possible through Castiel, who brought him food and drink, cleaned out the small bathroom attached to the garage for him, and even bought a space heater so Dean wouldn’t freeze to death. On Saturday the first parts Dean had ordered turned up, and he could actually begin to see the finished car forming in his mind. It was still many weeks of hard graft ahead, but he could actually see it.

On Monday Sam returned with Anna, and whilst not sharing Dean’s passion (or, as he put it, lust and unrequited love) for the car, was overjoyed to see it again. Dean thought his brother had never looked happier – until later that evening when Castiel insisted he show Sam how much his wounds had healed. Admittedly the happiness came after Sam broke down like a girl and cried in Dean’s room, but that was okay as Dean - of course, totally out of sympathy for his brother - faked a few tears of his own. Because he was that kind of guy, naturally.  
   
For the first time since he could remember, Dean Winchester’s life seemed as if it was verging dangerously on okay.


	5. Chapter 5

It was the very next day that Dean got the first hint of the trouble he was in.

He always got up early so he could go for a run along the beach or just down to the main road before starting work on the Impala. As usual, Castiel brought him out a cooked breakfast at eight, then mentioned he had some writing to do. Dean wasn’t paying much attention, his mind on a problem with the engine, until Sam came in two hours later and announced he was treating Dean’s injuries that day.

“But where’s Cas?”

“Working. He had a rush job, and asked me to do it. There’s no problem, is there?”

And straight away, Dean knew there was. It had been Cas cleansing his wounds, rubbing ointment into his body, and he wanted that to continue. And as he tried to get to grips with this unexpected development, he became aware that his brother was observing him, and his expression was one of growing suspicion.

“Hey, I guess I can put up with being mauled by the sasquatch”, Dean said lightly. But he knew from his brother’s face that a) Sam wasn’t fooled, and b) there would certainly be an awkward conversation between the two of them sometime in the future.  
   
+~+~+

Sometime turned out to be ten minutes in the future, in the middle of Sam cleansing his back. The bastard had to choose the one time Dean couldn’t run away.

“You like him, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Cas. You’re actually starting to like him.”

Dean spluttered and tried to turn over, but there was no earthly way he was going to dislodge Sam, whom damned genetics had made three inches taller than his big brother.

“What the hell do you mean?” he demanded angrily.

“I’ve seen that look before”, Sam said, gently easing Dean up so he could treat his front. “You want to get into his pants.”

“He’s been good to me! I could never do that!”

Sam didn’t even say that the old Dean Winchester would have done it without a thought, but they were brothers, so he didn’t have to.

“I’m not like that anymore!” Deans aid defensively.

Sam stopped cleansing, and came round to stare at his brother fully in the face. Whatever he saw there, he seemed satisfied.

“You know, I’m starting to believe that. You’re not the same person you were two weeks ago.”

He carried on the treatment, and Dean eyed him anxiously. He felt certain this wasn’t an end to his troubles.

He was right.

“Dean Winchester, Love Machine”, Sam chortled.”  
   
“Shut up!”  
   
“You do know he’s probably in love with you as well?”  
   
Dean turned round so fast that Sam was almost thrown off the bed. 

“Why’d you say that?” he asked weakly.

“Don’t be a jerk!” Sam snorted. “I mean, there’s the pies, to start with.”  
   
“What about them?”

Sam finished, and handed Dean his shirt.

“Those pies you love so much. Cas has them specially delivered from a bakery in Bangor. I saw the boxes he’d thrown away. I mean, catch a clue, Dean. Pies, the Impala, all the research he’s done so he can give you exactly what you need. Hey, I don’t know what his feelings are for you, but there must be something there. He surely can’t be doing all that just because his sister is your PA!”

Dean was silent. He wanted to deny what Sam had told him, but annoyingly the sasquatch might just be right, damn him. And if he was, Dean knew he’d never hear the end of it.

He went back to the Impala and tried to work off the nagging feeling his life was about to start getting complicated again.  
   
+~+~+  
   
It was a warm day, and Dean wasn’t surprised when Castiel brought his laptop outside and started working on the porch, though not before bringing them both pink lemonades. As he watched the smaller man walk away, it suddenly struck him that he had never actually looked at him before. Of course he had looked at him in conversation, but he had never really observed the man. So in between applying the first coat of a chemically nasty rust remover, he kept stealing covert glances at the writer.   
   
Castiel, he noted, seemed to work in fits and starts, which was not what he would have expected. Sometimes he sat there with his head in his hands for what seemed like hours, then suddenly he would seem to be struck with inspiration, and would type away so fast, Dean would not have been surprised to see smoke coming from the poor laptop. He also had this habit of slightly putting his tongue out a little way when he was having a writing attack, which was….  
   
Dean blinked. He was looking at another guy and thinking the c-word. He was thinking that Castiel Novak actually looked…. cute!  
   
Unfortunately what was left of his brain was still struggling to process this revelation when the author chanced to look up, and caught Dean staring at him. He sent him a friendly smile, then returned to his work, unaware that he had nearly given the actor a heart-attack.  
   
Dean had no real problem with liking men. Sammy had worked his brother’s sexuality out a long time ago, and had told him he really didn’t care who or what Dean did, provided it made him happy. But this…. this was way out of Dean’s league. He knew he had about as much chance of wooing Castiel Novak as he did some Hollywood A-lister, and besides, this was the man who had virtually saved his life. Hey, thanks for all you’ve done for me, and can we have sex now?  
   
He sighed, and slapped on the rust remover a little more viciously that was really needed.  
   
+~+~+  
   
Dean didn’t really need confirmation of the gulf – or canyon – between him and the writer when it came to being a half-decent human being. But of course, as he was Dean Winchester, he got it anyway.   
   
It was the very next day, and Dean was kicking his heels in frustration. The rust remover he had applied yesterday had to be left for forty-eight hours before being soaked off, which after a few other minor jobs left him nothing to do all day. He had been making himself a sandwich in the kitchen when he heard a knock at the door, and realizing the writer was on the phone in the lounge, went to open it. It was the UPS guy, with a gaudily-wrapped parcel with the word ‘Urgent’ stamped on it. Dean doubted something so tacky was really urgent, but decided to take it into the man’ study and leave it there. He duly placed the parcel on the table, and was about to leave when he saw the writer’s laptop was on.  
   
He really didn’t mean to look. He really didn’t. But before he knew it, he was reading avidly, until a cough from the doorway made him jump into the air. The writer was standing there, looking at him oddly nervously.  
   
“Dean?” he asked.  
   
“I didn’t read much, honest Cas!” he said, backing away.   
   
“That really is private, you know.” The tone was mild admonition more than anger, but Dean still flinched.  
   
“I just got curious; I couldn’t help myself….”  
   
“I think you should go, Dean.”  
   
It was clearly not a request. Dean slunk out, feeling totally ashamed of himself.


	6. Chapter 6

“You’re a jerk!”  
   
Dean tried to think of a comeback, but even the standard ‘bitch’ to his annoying little brother was beyond him, apparently. He groaned.  
   
“It’s not like I caught him reading porn!” he said defensively. “He was doing something about one of those Angel Thursday books. I think he might be the editor or something.”  
   
Sam smiled to himself. This should be good.  
   
“Oh, he’s not the editor”, he said airily. “I know that for a fact.”  
   
“How?” his brother asked curiously.  
   
“Because Cas is Angel Thursday.”  
   
Dean went pale.  
   
“What is it?” Sam asked, surprised at his reaction.  
   
His brother looked mournfully at him.  
   
“You do realize this means he’s even further out of my league”, he said flatly. “He’s a celebrated writer, I’m a failed actor.”  
   
To his surprise, Sam grinned.  
   
“What?” Dean groused.  
   
“Sounds like a plot from one of Angel Thursday’s books”, Sam grinned. “And they always have a happy ending!”  
   
+~+~+  
   
Over the next few days, Dean Winchester did something he had never done in his entire life. He took a good long hard look at himself. And he did not like what he saw.  
   
On the first day he apologized to Castiel in front of Sam, hoping it would show how sincere he was if he was prepared to brace his little brother’s ridicule. Castiel accepted his apology, but there was a wariness in his eyes which had not been there before, and Dean hated it.   
   
Then to cap it all, there was the incident of the shower. Dean had taken Sam into the nearby town to buy some stuff for Stanford – Castiel had gifted the moose a $200 gift card at the local clothes store, much to the brothers’ surprise – and Sam decided to stay on at the library for a while (the attractive librarian would normally have drawn Dean’s attention as well, but strangely he felt nothing for her). The older Winchester had told the writer they would be out all day, but he decided to head back and work on the Impala instead. He was preparing a sandwich in the kitchen when the hall phone rang; Castiel had advised him to ignore it as the answerphone would always kick in if needed. He was surprised to hear a door slam and the sound of someone hurrying to answer it, and stuck his head out of the door to inquire.  
   
His jaw was probably somewhere on the floor, but he couldn’t really be bothered. Castiel had clearly run out of the shower, and was wearing a pair of boxer briefs and….. well, nothing else. That runner’s body, those hips, that hair that somehow managed to be just as untidy when wet…. Dean could well have collapsed as every bit of blood in his body made a beeline for his lower brain, leaving him feeling light-headed. Fortunately he was able to back into the kitchen without being seen, and try to slow his suddenly accelerated heart rate.

+~+~+  
   
His dreams that night were good. Very, very good!.  
   
+~+~+  
   
Dean would be the first to admit he wasn’t always the brightest bulb in the pack, and it was some days after the conversation with Sam that it hit him. At two thirty-nine in the morning to be exact, when he sat up sharply in bed, his brain having finally made the connection.  
   
“Sonovabitch!” he ground out.  
   
He slipped quietly downstairs, and into Castiel’s office. He wondered briefly if the man used a password to protect his writing, but apparently not, as he was straight in. And there, right on the desktop, was a file marked atlas.wps. His fingers shaking, he opened it and started to read.  
   
It was an Angel Thursday work all right, and a very familiar one. Just a few paragraphs in, the story of how a reclusive writer named Charles Newton lived quietly in a small cottage in the hills, until one day he found his life turned upside-down when a broken-down actor was forced to stay with him. An actor called Michael Green.   
   
It was his story.  
   
Dean suddenly closed the laptop, unable to read on. Castiel, the man he had trusted, was writing a book about him! He was making money off the back of Dean’s miserable life. He felt betrayed!  
   
He didn’t think, moving silently back upstairs to pack as much as he could into a single suitcase, before heading down to the thankfully mobile if unfinished Impala. His baby would not get him far, but he just needed miles between him and the man he thought he had loved, but who had betrayed him.   
   
He eased Baby out of the garage and down the drive before risking starting the engine, and didn’t look back as he made for the main road. And if there was more than one tear in his eye, well, no-one was there to see it.  
   
+~+~+  
   
Two days later, he knew he would have to call Sam, as his dwindling cash reserves were about to run out. The moose answered at the second ring.   
   
“Dean? Where the hell are you?”  
   
“Sammy, I had to get away. I just….. he was using me.”  
   
There was a long silence at the other end of the line, and Dean could almost feel Sam frowning down the phone at him.  
   
“Give me your location, and I’ll come and see you”, he said firmly.  
   
“The Blue Springs Motel in Skowhegan, north-west of Waterville”, Dean answered. “I’ve got enough for tonight, but….”  
   
“Stay there. I’m on my way.”  
   
“Don’t tell Cas.”  
   
Sam laughed hollowly.  
   
“Cas is locked in his room, and I don’t think he’s eaten since you left, you moron!” he said sharply. “I’ll be with you in under an hour.”  
   
The call disconnected abruptly. Dean stared at the phone for a moment, then sighed.  
   
+~+~+  
   
Dean knew he could always rely on his little brother to be supportive at times of crisis, even if with his life those had been pretty often of late. So when he opened the motel room door to his brother, he was prepared for the usual Sammy words of advice and comfort.  
   
His brother promptly grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him back into the wardrobe which, being IKEA, wobbled dangerously.   
   
“You fucking moron!” Sam ground out.  
   
Dean stared at him in shock.  
   
“Sammy…?”  
   
His brother manhandled him over to the bed, virtually threw him down onto it, then forced a folder into his hands. Dean looked down, and recognized it as a printout of the manuscript of Atlas Reborn, the book he had been reading on Castiel’s computer.  
   
“I’ve read enough of this!” he snarled.  
   
“Read the first page, then look at me”, Sam said, still clearly furious for some reason.   
   
He pulled the single chair out from the desk, spun it round and threw a ridiculously long leg over it to sit down, still glowering at his brother. Dean wondered at this, but obediently read the top sheet. It was a dedication to him as the inspiration for the story.  
   
“He’s still making money off me!” he grumbled, though he was somewhat mollified by the dedication.  
   
“You moron!” his brother snapped. “You just don’t get it! Cas wasn’t writing this for publication. This was totally for his own use. And if you’d bothered to read the whole thing, you’d have seen that he really does love you, and that he wrote his own happy ending for you both. Until you did what you always do, and ran away!”  
   
“He told you that?” Dean said incredulously. “He’s lying!”  
   
“He’s just finished Marksman, and he’s on Chapter Two of his next work”, Sam explained. “And if you’d stopped to think for once in your life Dean, you’d have seen that this is no way big enough for a novel; hell, it’s barely even a short story! But you just go and assume the worst, after all he’s done for you.”  
   
Dean stared at him in horror. His brother was right; he really was, as Uncle Bobby would doubtless say, a ‘prize idjit’.   
   
“How do I put this right, Sammy?” he said in a small voice.  
   
To his surprise, his brother stood up, taking the folder from him.  
   
“Cas doesn’t know I have this”, he said. “I leave for Stanford in four days, Dean. Please fix this. You’re unhappy, and he’s unhappy. Do something.”  
   
He looked hard at his brother, and left. Dean fell back onto the bed and tried not to cry.  
   
He failed.  
   
+~+~+  
   
Sam had left him with no extra funds, so Dean stopped at a small library on the way back to the lighthouse, where he was fortunate enough to find the type of book he wanted on sale for just a dollar. He stopped at a diner for lunch, and was in a lay-by half a mile from the entrance to the lighthouse driveway in early evening. He pulled out a marker pen from the glove compartment, and started to rip his latest purchase into pieces.  
   
He had texted Sam earlier to be sure to leave the door open so he could get in, and his brother texted back just as it was getting dark, saying Castiel was about to turn in, and looked awful. Dean could have done without the second part of that, but he probably deserved it. He waited over an hour, before slipping quietly up to the house, the remains of the atlas in his hands. Once inside, he carried out his plan, hoping against hope that the writer would forgive him for leaving the way he had, and for what he had said. Finally he went out to the car, which he had had to push up the drive, and settled down for a rough night.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel awoke the following morning to another gray day, with the rain beating against the room’s solitary window. He sighed, not wanting to get up and face another day trying to write, when his inspiration had gone. Like Dean.  
   
He should have been angry with the man for walking out after all he’d done for him, but he knew what Dean had had to face in the past few years, and that it would have broken many lesser men. He just wished….  
   
There was a piece of paper sticking out under the bedroom door. He forced himself to get up, and pulled it out. It was a map, clearly torn out from a book, and on it someone had written the single word ‘I’ in black marker pen. He stared at in in confusion, before carefully opening the door and looking out. No-one was about, but further down the stairwell was a second map, with a black arrow on it pointing ever downwards. He quickly pulled on a dressing-gown and slippers, and hurried out.  
   
It was of course a long stairwell, and as well as some more arrows there were three further maps with words on them; ‘am’, ‘so’ and ‘sorry.’. A further arrow at the bottom pointed into the kitchen, where a map with the word ‘Please’ was on the coffee-machine. There was also another arrow on the back door. Following it out (and wishing he’d put on some clothes as it was decidedly cold), he found another map taped firmly to the bench on the porch reading ‘forgive’. There was a final arrow halfway down the path to the garage, flapping in the wind as it was nailed onto the tree. And at the end of the path, just outside the garage, was the Impala, with the last map containing the word ‘me’ on it.   
   
Dean was asleep inside the car, and seeing how awful he looked, Castiel’s heart just melted. He quietly peeled off the last map and hurried back to the house.  
   
+~+~+  
   
Dean woke with an awful crick in his neck, and immediately wondered if Castiel had awoken yet, and if he’d seen the truly chick-click messages he’d left. Was there any chance the man could possibly….  
   
That was when he realized the map he had taped to the window next to him was no longer there. For a brief moment he panicked, until he glanced across as saw it had been removed and taped to the passenger window instead. It had also been turned around, and a single word had been written on a map of Australia.  
   
‘Yes!’

Somehow he managed to co-ordinate his limbs into getting out of the car and making his way up the path to the kitchen door, bursting through it as if the hounds of hell were after him. Castiel and Sam were sat opposite each other, a full English breakfast in front of the former and (predictably) a bowl of regurgitated cardboard or something before his moose of a brother. Not that Dean really cared; the smile of welcome on the writer's face was more than enough to claim his attention.

“Dean!” 

Whatever else Castiel had been about to say was lost beneath the assault Dean made on his mouth, ignoring the first polite and then pointed coughs from across the table, and flipping the bird when Sam tried a quiet “excuse me?” Finally there was the sound of a door quietly closing, just before they had to draw back from each other for breath.

“I am so sorry....” Dean began.

“I understand”, Castiel interrupted. “It looked bad, and in your position you were probably right to assume the worst. I just wish you had waited around for me to explain.”

“Cas, I owe you so much. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, I'll do it!”

The writer quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Anything?” he smiled. “All right. I would like to pick the music when you take me driving in the Impala.”

“Sounds fair”, Dean agreed.

“For the next year”, Castiel added.

Dean swallowed at that, but nodded. Then the writer opened a draw and pulled out....

“Hell no! I am not having furry dice in Baby!”

Castiel at once looked hurt, and turned away. Dean gritted his teeth.

“Fine!” he growled. “But only when you're in the car!”

“Dean......”

Ye gods, the puppy-dog eyes! That damn moose must have been teaching him that look.

“All right!” Dean almost cried. “I'll do anything, even something as humiliating as... that!”

Castiel smiled at him, then calmly walked over to the swing bin, where he dumped the furry dice. Dean stared at him in shock.

“You were having me on!” he said, shocked.

“If you love me enough to have my music and furry dice in Baby, then I know it must be true love!” Castiel teased. 

“Why, you....”

“But Sam has made me a tape for our next ride, Dean”, Castiel grinned. “Tibetan throat-singing on one side, and whale music on the other.”

Dean was going to kill his brother. Later. After he'd made Castiel really appreciate just how sorry he was. 

Really, thoroughly appreciate.


	8. Chapter 8

“Hullo, Sam.”

“Oh, hi, Cas.”

Castiel froze, then held the phone away from his ear and stared hard at it. Across the table, Dean finished cutting round the pie top and placed the dessert in the oven, before looking at him curiously.

“Something wrong, babe?” he asked, concerned. 

Castiel put the phone back to his ear.

“Sam, put my brother on the line, please.”

There was an audible gasp, followed by some muffled swearing down the phone, which as Castiel had switched to speaker phone was clearly audible to Dean. 

“What do you mean?” Sam's voice sounded unnaturally high.

“Please hand the telephonic device to my brother, who is in the same room as your good self”, Castiel said patiently.

“How on earth....?” Dean began.

“Hi, Cassie”.

Dean's mouth fell open.

“Gabriel, are you in bed with Dean's brother?”

“Um, kind of.”

“How long has this been going on, pray?”

“Um, five weeks.”

“You, Gabriel Novak, have maintained a relationship with another human being for thirty-five days.”

“Sort of, yes.”

“I see. Please put Sam back on.”

Another muffled curse in the background. Dean continued to stare at Castiel in amazement. 

“Cas, I can explain....”

“You're a grown man, Sam, and you have had a relationship with my brother that is approximately thirty-five times longer than his usual track record. But yes, I did have a reason for phoning you, apart from to tell you Dean's last scar has cleared up.”

“That's good.”

“Dean is currently making me an apple pie, which will take two hours to cook. During that time, we fully intend to go upstairs and re-enact that scene from Olympiad when Mike and Nick work through a sexual version of the ancient Games. Have a nice day”.

And with that, he hung up. Then he looked expectantly at Dean, who was still standing with his mouth open. 

“I'll be waiting upstairs for when you've finished”, he grinned. “Naked. And that parcel that came yesterday had everything we'll need!”

And with that, he sauntered from the room. 

Dean had never finished cooking a pie so fast in his life!


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felt inspired to add another chapter to one of my very first stories.

It could probably be said that the little town along from the old lighthouse had never quite seen anything like it. Even the local radio and TV stations had rolled up to see the place suddenly and unexpectedly being besieged. Candice Merriweather adjusted her top to make sure enough cleavage was showing to attract the viewers but not so much that it would have them taken off the air (it was a narrow difference), before turning on the fake smile for the cameras. Her cameraman gave her the thumbs-up, and the green light came on.

“We're here today in the seaside town of Barwick to witness a phenomenon!” she trilled, quietly wincing at her own fakery. “The town is brimming with the fandom of Angel Thursday, the writer revealed recently as one Mr. Castiel Novak and who many are calling the gay Barbara Cartland. Today he has agreed to appear in public and do a charity book-signing at the store of a friend of his, a Mr. Kevin Tran. I'm afraid that it will be disappointment for many as the author will only be signing two hundred copies of his latest novel, but many of his fans are hoping for at least a glimpse of the great man, especially as his website has been dropping teasing hints of great changes in his life. We can but hope they do not affect his prodigious output, which makes a lot of people very happy.”

She walked through the bookshop's open door to where the author was standing by the signing-table, and her eyes widened in surprise. He was gorgeous, the wind-blown librarian look working for him and then some. A taller guy, presumably a bodyguard, seemed to take offense at her interest and visibly moved to block her.

“That's alright, Dean”, the author smiled at him. “I promised just a few words before the signings started, and we have a couple of minutes. Hello, Candy.”

She did not preen at his knowing her name. Much. The bodyguard glowered at her.

“Hullo, Mr. Novak”, she smiled. “You recently revealed your name on your website, and told your loyal fans that you had a second surprise for them as well, which you would be revealing here today. Are you ready to share it with us?”

The author smiled. God, he was so cute! She was sure the bodyguard was growling at her, but so what?

“Well first I have to thank everyone who entered the draw for the charity copies here”, he said. “Sorry to the tens of thousands who missed out, but whilst I don't think I have the time to sign that number of copies – my publisher somehow worked out I would need four days and nights without sleep to do that! - those who left or leave email addresses will be getting a printable signature bookmark for them to use. A poor substitute I know, but I do thank the two hundred who have turned up today, and paid double the cover price plus the expense of coming here.”

“You said that the charity you would be supporting was one dealing with depression”, she said. “Any particular reason for that choice?”

She was sure the man glanced slightly at his bodyguard. She wondered why.

“I know someone who went through a very bad patch, mentally speaking, some time ago”, he said, and she knew he was choosing his words carefully. “That was one inspiration for 'Atlas Reborn'. The other....”

He looked round fully, and reached for the bodyguard, their hands entwining. The man seemed to tense, then came over. And belatedly, she realized that they were both wearing rings. Wedding-rings.

“The other”, the author said with a smile, “was that I found the love of my life. My own perfect Atlas. I said on my website that my real name was Castiel Novak. That was true until last week, when I married Dean here. Now my name is Castiel Winchester-Novak.”

The bodyguard - who was apparently not a bodyguard - moved directly behind the author, wrapping his taller frame around the smaller man and staring meaningfully at Candice, who had to fight the urge to back away.

“Oh”, she said, stunned. “Uh, congratulations.”

“Thank you”, the author smiled. He raised his voice. “And to those faithful fans of mine, yes, I will sign myself by my married name if you wish, and write anything you like in your book.”

“Provided it's clean!” Dean rumbled.

“Fairly clean”, the author corrected. He accepted a kiss to the top of his head before detaching himself and heading round to a long day of aching wrists and gushing fans.

Though at the end of it, he would have Dean. He would always have Dean.

THE END


End file.
